


hear me (with your whole body)

by tainara_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A bit of a selfish Draco, Angst, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Harry has low self-esteem, Harry is hurt. Aren’t we all at this point?, Heartbreak, Hurt Harry, Jealousy is a treacherous thing, M/M, Mentions of a threesome (or two), Mentions of kink, Open relationship gone wrong, Pansy Parkinson gives good advice, The blowjob is also going to make your heart break, and very flawed, blowjob, dub con, he's insecure, open/ambiguous ending, there’s a bit of gaslight, they are human, unequal power dynamics, unequal sex drive, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26478889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainara_black/pseuds/tainara_black
Summary: It was a sexy idea, exploring other bodies with Draco, engaging in sex with other people to spice things up. Something inside of him was excited about the prospect, but the nagging fear, the feeling of abandonment that follows each image that pops in his head is throwing him off.He would give it a go. See what it was like. He could always say no, right?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 42
Kudos: 145
Collections: H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	hear me (with your whole body)

**Author's Note:**

> It hurt to write but I ended up processing past experiences, which is good. I tried to make it the most realistic possible, so it’s raw and real and straight (haha) to the point. I’m sorry if it hurts  
> Thanks a million to [ValravnFeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValravnFeathers/profile) for doing such brilliant beta work!! Massive thanks to J and A for reading it over my shoulder, discussing the plot and scenes on videocall and long voice messages and the constant care of your friendship, and for being gentle knowing this time the fic hit too close to my heart.  
> Many thanks to the mods <3 and huge thank you to Quicksilvermaid for the prompt!  
> The title was extracted with care from a quote of Agua Viva, by Clarice Lispector; “You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.”

“You are such a _prude_ , _Potter_.”

Harry doesn’t like to think of himself as a prude. _He is not_. He had his fair bit of exploration in the first few years after the war. He had different partners and tried different things.

So the word makes him furious.

“I am not!” he spits.

He sounds childish to his own ears. He hates it. He hates the way his own voice rings in the kitchen and the way Draco is looking at him from the other side of the table, as if he were a little boy. Sharp eyes and a probable scold on the tip of his posh quick tongue.

There’s a discomfort inside his chest that Harry cannot exactly pinpoint. The pit of his stomach feels acidic and scratchy and a painful headache is starting in the back of his skull.

Harry is no boy. He’s 29 and he’s pretty sure there is nothing wrong with not indulging in all his partner’s fantasies.

He takes a long breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, glasses sitting askew against his forehead.

“Look, I just don’t feel comfortable with that,” he explains.

“Fair enough,” there’s spite in Draco’s voice.

Harry looks up in time to see the way Draco grabs the wine bottle by the neck, how he looks disappointed, a stern look on his face, pouring another quite large glass of red and standing up in a fluid motion.

And the signs are all there again. Draco is already disengaging, walking out of the room, putting on some rather loud music with a sharp flick of his wand and disappearing to his own personal headspace.

**.**

He has this thing that Harry could never explain. A specific colour in his irises when the sun sets reddish in the horizon on summertime. When the grey in his eyes shine with sparks of gold.

It has always made Harry sigh.

Draco is sharp and witty, his sarcastic humour is a blessing, he is quick on his feet and even quicker with his tongue. He is the only one that actually makes Harry feel like he’s just that, just Harry.

He loves the way Draco thumps his fingers against any surface, anxious, ready, waiting.

Draco is like a stretched violin string ready to burst.

So Harry should have known.

Known that the string would burst, that things would go spiraling in a very bad way.

But Harry had honestly believed...

He loves Draco, his sharpness, his imperfections, his curiosities, the way his eyes shine and dart quickly to check if Harry is still there.

By his side.

**.**

The workload of paperwork today was insane. Three cases solved and ready to go, people dispatched to Azkaban or major community services assigned and Harry had to inspect all the reports and file whatever inconclusive or lacking bit before signing and sending it down to the Archives. A massive pain in the arse. Harry had a fucking headache since lunch break. Most of his days have been like this lately; they were even advertising for Auror recruitment next month, as they were short on personnel.

He arrives home a bit earlier, looking forward to a long shower, a cuppa and maybe convincing Draco into getting take away from the Thai restaurant down the street and watching something stupid in the telly.

But once he closes the door there's laughter coming from the living room.

Harry takes a long breath and heads to the kitchen to take something for the headache and puts the kettle on.

He shrugs his auror robes and hangs it on the back of a chair before walking into the living room to a very chatty Draco leaning animatedly over the floo.

“Hey,” he announces himself.

“Harry, come here, I want you to meet Walden Kolontai,” Draco says over his shoulder with a huge grin.

“Hello, Mr. Potter, nice meeting you,” greets the man from the other side of the floo with a thick Russian accent. He looks sharp, in smart clothing and dark hair slicked back, a charming smile on his lips.

“Nice meeting you too,” Harry gets closer to Draco's armchair, resting a rather possessive hand on his shoulder.

Draco looks up at Harry with excitement written all over his face. “Walden has one of the most exquisite homoerotic art collections of the 19th century, all safe under protected wards in his estate. Guess what, Harry?” he beams at him and Harry smiles, checking Walden's smug face floating. “We are bringing it to London!”

“That’s great news, love.”

“Yes, Walden is coming in a few months with the art collection and we are exhibiting it at The Art Gallery.”

Draco goes back to his chat with Mr. Kolontai, speaking fast, talking about specificities of the artwork of the 19th century, asking about one art piece or another, about possible censorship and minimum age requirements. Harry figures some pieces are very explicit.

He excuses himself, feeling a bit off. Lately, everything related to sex has been a bit uncomfortable between them.

Harry feels the headache again and takes the stairs up to their ensuite, tea kettle long forgotten. A shower will make him well, better than a cuppa right now. 

**.**

He can’t exactly explain how it started, it was maybe a year back. Draco wanted to explore a few fantasies, one or two kinks. Nothing too much. Harry rather liked it. If he thinks back, he can still see Draco with fishnet stockings on and high heels; Christ but wasn’t his husband sexy as fuck in a black thong? He always gets hot and bothered with the memory.

It was easy and sexy and fun.

At some point though, things started changing. Some of the fantasies and kinks Draco wanted to try out made Harry cringe, made him feel uncomfortable under his own skin with only the bare thought of it. He started saying no to many proposals.

And then it got worse.

Maybe it was after their holiday trip to Tuscany with Blaise and Pansy last summer, when they talked about the massive adventures of their open relationship.

Maybe then Draco started wondering.

Yes, it was definitely after that.

**.**

“Isn’t it a bit concerning?” He sounds worried and he wants to go back to being 24 and very open minded, young and unafraid, or at least very unconcerned about his relationship with Draco.

“Well, Harry, you’ve been together for what? Six years?”

“Maybe he is bored of me...”

Hermione stares at him, clicking her tongue.

“I don’t think he is bored of you, you know,” she pops a chip to her mouth, and sips on her IPA Lagunita. “Maybe he is just curious. It's normal to want to spice things up, isn’t it?”

Draco has been a bit restless the last few weeks, and Harry is trying to prepare himself for the worst, but he really does not want things to go there. He wishes he could have the same curiosities his husband has.

“Are you and Ron planning on opening the relationship by any chance?” he asks back.

He is concerned still.

“No Harry, we are not opening our marriage. But when we started getting bored we decided to have a baby. And now we have two of them- there’re just different ways of improving a relationship after a while.”

And right now, neither Harry nor Draco are ready for kids. At all. They are not even sure they will have kids at some point.

“If you don’t want to do that, you should be very honest with him. Just explain you can’t deal with it. And talk.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just scared.”

She has her eyes trained on him, observing, so Harry shrugs and changes the topic.

It was a sexy idea, exploring other bodies with Draco, engaging in sex with other people to spice things up. Something inside of him was excited about the prospect, but the nagging fear, the feeling of abandonment that follows each image that pops in his head is throwing him off.

He would give it a go. See what it was like. He could always say no, right?

At any point if he needed.

Right?

**.**

It isn’t anything too bad,but Draco definitely has a bigger sexual drive than Harry nowadays, and Harry can do only so much. Between his own lower sexual desire, the pressure and stress from work, he finds himself wishing to just go to bed once he arrives home most often than not.

The wind and drizzle starts to shake his new headache away. It’s becoming an everyday thing. Too much work, and now the stress at home with the constant feeling owing Draco sex in intense amounts that he can’t actually keep up with, at least not lately.

He wonders if he’s getting old. If something is wrong with his libido. If he should go to a sex therapist or something.

So he decided to take up running again.

Exercising has always worked as a stress reliever.

He could remember fairly well that, at some point, sex had also worked like that for him, but lately it isn’t the case. Probably around the time Draco started complaining about how boring and prudish Harry is. He doesn't know how to manage that very well, with Draco asking and nagging and begging. Some days he just wants to punch Draco in the face, but he always ends up giving in somehow, in order to be done with it and finally go to bed.

Which isn’t very healthy.

Harry knows that.

It’s starting to make him feel even worse about sex- about himself, and how inadequate it feels to be less sexual than his husband.

He needs to get his head sorted and find a solution. Or at least decide about some of Draco’s ideas, like inviting other men into their bed.

Harry shudders at the thought.

He keeps running.

**.**

He puts the kettle on and turns the faucet to wash his hands in the sink when Draco’s long strides and buzzing energy overflows the kitchen.

“Gods, this exhibition is going to be a blast!” he says excitedly, opening a bottle of wine with a flick of his wand in a very good mood.

“You sound very excited,” Harry laughs, watching Draco take a swig straight from the bottle. “Oh gods, you’re even overlooking your manners!”

Draco grins and winks at him. He has been supervising the installation of said exhibition the whole day.

Harry turns back to close the faucet. It happens in quick succession and then Draco is right there, behind him. Wine bottle forgotten hovering over the cabinet. He feels Draco’s solid presence, pressing his body against Harry’s back. Hands on his waist and nose nuzzling Harry’s sweaty hair.

“You smell delicious...” Draco hums hotly.

“I stink,” Harry laughs, unconvinced, a bit bothered by the quick approach.

“I love when you’re stinky...” Draco replies, his tongue already darting over Harry’s nape, teeth scraping his skin and making Harry shiver. A mix of excitement and dread runs over his body and he tries to relax.

“I need a shower first...” he tries, staring at the sink, feeling Draco’s fingers get into his shirt, touch the taut flesh of his navel, and start going down over his joggers to cup his dick over the fabric.

“Mmm...” Draco starts kissing his neck, tongue lapping and mouth sucking and Harry trembles with a spark, feeling his cock fill and his knees go weak.

His resolution is faltering in a mix of bless and doubt, he thinks he better enjoy the fact that he is enjoying it.

“I want to suck you off right here, Harry...”

A shaky laugh escapes Harry’s mouth, and he is already giving into the desire he isn’t sure will visit again anytime soon. He turns in Draco’s arms and instinct kicks in. Grabbing Draco by the hair, crashing their mouths together, tasting his own sweat on Draco’s tongue, hips pushing and teasing in tandem. He trails a wet hand to Draco’s arse over thick fabric and moves him even closer, making him moan against his lips, fingers messing Harry’s hair, thrusting against each other in a delicious mess of sweat and saliva and heat.

 _Gods_ , Harry missed this. He just needs to stop overthinking, to let it go. To feel. To allow himself...

“Do you want to try something new?” Draco asks breathless, pulling Harry’s t-shirt over his head, breaking the kiss.

An anxious feeling coils in Harry’s belly.

 _And here we go again_ , he thinks. Disentangling the t-shirt from his head, dropping his glasses over the countertop dismissively.

“No, not today,” he says, bringing their lips together again, biting Draco’s lips, undoing the buttons of his shirt. “I want you to suck me off on your knees...”

“But it would be so fun to try-” Draco starts, but Harry shuts him up with his tongue.

Truth is, Harry is already feeling the flash of insecurity again, the doubts, the uncomfortable sense that he is not enough.

Never enough for Draco.

“I will tell you what would be fun,” he tries and Draco smiles dirtily at him, all ears. “You will suck my cock and then I will fuck you against the countertop...” Harry counters hotly, feeling his whole body shake with the idea, a deep sensual need pooling between his legs, canting his hips against Draco’s, pulling the shirt off his arms.

“So boring, Auror Potter,” Draco restots, rolling his hips anyways, playfully. It pushes all the wrong buttons and Harry feels himself deflating. “You could tie me to the bed and spank me...”

“Draco...”

Harry feels the sexual tension start to dissipate, his mind turning down the wrong path. He closes his eyes, hands on Draco’s waist pushing him backwards.

“We already talked about it,” he says defeatedly.

“Just once,” Draco pleads. “I just want to spice things up.”

“I know,” he sighs. Concern and tiredness overtaking him. “Look, I had a really stressful day, I can't deal with that right now.”

Draco presses a hand over his eyes and sighs frustrated.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Maybe some other day...”

“Thanks.”

Harry takes Draco’s face in his hands, trying to show gratitude in looking into his beautiful grey eyes before starting to kiss him again. But the spark isn’t there anymore and he feels his cock going soft.

Why the hell does Draco need to spoil it knowing Harry is not into it?

A nasty mix of frustration and sadness overcomes him. He feels angry with himself, with Draco, with the whole stupid situation.

The kiss intensifies. Harry puts all his anger into it and Draco meets him in intensity. But Harry isn’t feeling it anymore. He feels stupid and impotent in the face of not being able to give his husband what he is asking for.

“Change of plans,” he mutters, his brain sorting fast for a way out, walking Draco backwards to the kitchen table, pushing him against it, undoing his trousers, dragging his underwear down his thighs and sucking on his neck.

He doesn't want to do it anymore, but he wants to at least please Draco. He doesn't want to deal with whatever reaction could come from stopping now. The disappointment and frustration that will flash in cold grey eyes. The conversation that is now long overdue.

He drops to his knees and takes Draco in his mouth, eyes closed with a fiery kind of anger and madness and hate. He sucks him off, while Draco clings to his hair, to the table, thrusting into Harry’s mouth and moaning deliriously.

Harry grabs his legs, the tight globes of his arse, leaving crescent moon marks with his nails, bruising with his finger prints. The anger is spiking inside his chest in a mix of self loathing and hatred over his own husband and he knows deep down that he shouldn’t be doing any of this.

He shouldn’t need to do it without wanting it. He shouldn’t need to be bargaining his own limits everytime. He feels disrespected.

He hates it. He fucking hates it.

He puts extra effort to make it good, though. He makes it dirty and harsh, because he feels harsh and pissed off. He wants to make Draco come as fast as possible and be done with this. And when Draco spills in the back of his throat, moaning and shaking under Harry’s hands and mouth, Harry spits spunk over the kitchen floor with disgust, completely out of character, and stands up in a hurry.

“Wow Harry, that was-” Draco shakily presses open mouthed kisses over Harry’s beard, biting his jaw and traveling his hand to Harry’s cock, to find it soft. “What-”

“Don´t worry,” Harry says quietly, pulling away. “It was a long day. I really need a shower.”

Draco’s face is stunned, he’s speechless, he seems confused and unfocused and Harry takes this moment to fuck the hell off to the bathroom.

He scrubs his body angrily and the hot tears that fall over his face are out of rage, embarrassment and disgust.

**.**

“I thought about what you said,” Harry says over dinner, after the first days of the exhibition.

Draco’s art gallery is receiving all kinds of critiques. Good ones, bad ones. His mood is going up and down and he even started smoking again. Drumming his fingers anxiously over all flat surfaces, making Harry feel bad everytime Draco proposes something different in the sex department to get some steam off.

“About what?” he retorts bitterly, a perfect eyebrow going up, his fork playing with the food. He is in a foul mood, and Harry is always trying to make it better.

“You wanted to open the relationship.” Harry mentions, uncertain, taking a sip of beer. “I’m not sure how it will go, how much of it I will manage well or not, but we can try.”

Draco drops his fork and looks at him with both eyebrows up, surprised at the change of events.

“Are you serious?”

Harry smirks.

“No, I’m Harry.”

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco is considering him with sharp eyes.

“I’m serious,” he says, taking another sip. Maybe, if they explored it together, Draco’s anxiety would go down, they would have a few nice new experiences, he would calm down, they would go back to normal and see how it goes. “But I think we should be discreet and try to avoid the press if possible. Just do it together as you proposed. Maybe have some ground rules...”

“Are you sure?” Draco doesn’t seem convinced.

Harry sighs. It’s like everything he tries is never enough.

“Look, I haven’t been feeling very sexual. We both know that. I know you are bored of our sex life an-”

“I’m not _bored_ , Har-”

“Oh, but _you are_.” Harry retorts impatient, taking his glasses off his face and scrubbing a hand against his eyes. “I can’t give you some stuff you wanna explore, I feel uncomfortable. But _this_ , well, at least we can try. And if it doesn’t work, we stop.”

Draco takes a sip of his wine, watching Harry. He seems concerned and interested at the same time, as if he’s trying to understand the puzzle that is Harry Potter. His jaw works, he presses his lips together in a thin line, a frown forming on his brow.

“I don’t want you to do this if you’re not comfortable,” he finally says.

Harry shrugs. Oh, if his auror mates could see how he acts around Draco when he’s unsure of himself... Nothing like badass Auror Potter and more like a little, insecure teenager.

“I don’t know how I will feel,if I will deal with it well or not. I fear you falling for someone else and leaving me, but honestly,” Harry sighs. “I am also curious. It could go well, right? If we do things together?”

“Harry,” there’s such softness in Draco’s voice that Harry’s shoulders relax, like coming home, like giving in and stopping fighting. The blond stretches his arm over the wooden table top and holds Harry’s hand. “I would never leave you for anyone else,” his voice is kind, his grey eyes are soft and there’s this small, beautiful smile on his lips, though a bit sad; “I love you.”

Harry feels his eyes stinging. His breath catches. A rush of feelings cross his chest and he blinks the tears aways.

“I love you too, Draco.”

**.**

The purple lights are flickering and splashing over Draco’s face in a magical way, he smiles, and it’s a feral smile- he’s chasing his prey and his eyes are shining with a malicious tint of eagerness that makes Harry’s knees buckle a bit. Jesus, he’s gorgeous and the way he is moving his lips while talking to the guy by the bar makes Harry want to crash their mouths together.

As if he could hear Harry’s thoughts, Draco looks straight up to him. The music is so loud Harry feels like he is floating. Grey eyes focus on him with that slow, indecent smile... Harry feels himself hardening inside his pants and he just wishes he could have Draco’s attention only for himself.

He wishes Draco would look at him that way without the extra kinks and fantasies and other men involved. He wishes they could go back to the start when each other's presence was more than enough to ignite that specific kind of fire inside their loins and that torturous tremor on their bodies.

They have been trying it out for a few months now. And everytime Harry feels a mix of regret and excitement and jealousy to see Draco entertained by other men.

Right now, he just wants to make this all stop and bring Draco home alone. Debauch his posh pointy face, fuck his mouth, grabbing him by the hair.

Harry never thought of any of their sexual interactions as boring before Draco started nagging him about trying new things.

Something inside of him dies little by little every time Draco comes up with some new idea, or with the silent ask of bringing someone else home with them.

Just like this. Draco keeps looking at him from the bar, while the stranger closes the space between them and catches Malfoy’s lips in his.

And it hurts.

Grey eyes keep staring at Harry.

And he’s fucking sexy.

This is all sexy and painful in equal measures. He knows it is. He deeply wishes Draco wouldn’t need the extra effort to find sex with Harry more appealing, less boring.

He closes his eyes and tries to get lost in the rhythm of the music until they come to him for the next step: their house or the stranger’s?

The club smells like men’s sweat and alcohol.

Harry just wants to get lost in the beat, in the heat of stranger’s bodies bumping into him as they dance. He wants to stop overthinking. He wants to stop feeling this much.

He just wants to get lost.

He wants to disappear.

It was such a stupid idea.

**.**

Draco’s eyes lit up. Harry can see it happening from the other side of the table, while Luna is saying something about her new research that he’s not even sure he wants to know. Draco is talking to this Austrian artist that is friends with Dean. Draco is glowing with interest.

The way his eyes shine, his hands gesticulating excitedly, mouth moving fast as he talks to the other man, then keeping quiet and focusing completely on the Austrian good looking dude and whatever it is they’re talking about.

Harry only observes. There’s something so compelling and beautiful in the way Draco is drawn to new things, new people, new information. He’s curious and adventurous and Harry has always found that so special.

They laugh at something. Luna is now talking to someone else, he thinks it’s Ginny but he does not look to check.

He’s hypnotised.

He can’t stop looking at Draco and how engaged he is in the conversation, how he nods and Harry can make out the straight line of his jaw, his pointy chin, the fair stubble...

The music is melodic in the background and people are chatting happily around him, the lights are a bit dim, candles are lit. Dean organised his birthday celebration well, and the decorations are very nice.

The Austrian guy is as enticed as Harry, as he can see, staring at Draco’s mouth, eyes flicking with the hand movements, tongue licking lips in a quick motion. All indicative of how alluring and interesting he’s finding Draco Malfoy.

A lock of blond hair falls over Draco’s eyes and he pushes it back behind his ear, his long elegant fingers touching the delicate skin under his earlobe. Gold band shining on his ring finger.

Harry can’t take this anymore.

He stands up, excusing himself and walking towards the bathroom. His breath is catching in the back of his throat and his eyes are starting to sting.

He really thought he could, but he can’t really deal with any of this.

**.**

Harry stares at the mirror. He looks pale with humid eyes. He’s been here for at least ten minutes trying to calm the fuck down and not overreact. That's what Draco called it the last time: overreaction. Since the last time when they brought the Irish guy back home .

What was his name again? Something Irish, something like Oisin, or Eoin, or Eammon. He doesn’t care. The guy was nice enough, easy going, long brownish hair in a bun, big blue eyes, a bit of a belly with really strong arms and legs and a damn fine arse.

Harry enjoyed most of it. The way the Irish lad kissed him like his life depended on it, how he appreciated each and every single touch on Harry’s body, muttering nice words with a thick accent. As thick as his dick. How he managed to bring Draco closer and soon enough the three of them were dissolving into a gasping mess of hot bodies and slick fluids on top of the coverlet of the bed.

They fucked for hours, or at least it felt like hours. Harry was pretty spent when they started it all over again. The sheer appreciation in Draco’s eyes once Oisin, or Eoin, or Eammon started sucking his dick back to life once again.

Harry just sighed lightly and excused himself telling them to enjoy it.

He walked into the bathroom at the end of the hall, washed up quickly, putting on sweatpants and an old t-shirt and ventured through the hallway, listening to Draco and the Irish dude going on again, quite loudly.

Harry prepared a cuppa in the kitchen and sat at the table, staring out the window. It was dawn, the black sky mixing with light grey. A soft drizzle falling lazily. He just wanted to sleep.

Something in all this unsettled him.

He just wanted to go to bed, with Draco, and rest.

He didn’t know how to deal with any of that.

It was obviously fun at some moments, but then Draco would want more, and in this case Mr. Irishman wanted it too. He felt defeated.

Why couldn’t they be satisfied with the multiple hours of sex they just had?

He just wanted the man to leave and Draco to be satiated enough and to go back to their cozy little life.

Harry heard deep grunts, the bed squeaking, Draco’s laugh. 

He hated it. Maybe he should just accept they were not the best match anymore.

That same day,after the guy left with a soft smile and a promise of ‘ _maybe some other night’_ , Draco and Harry had breakfast. Draco was over the moon, speaking fast, gesticulating, a glint of happiness in his eyes.

Harry couldn’t take it. He felt used, and small, and not good enough. He started retorting everything Draco was saying.

“What’s wrong with you?” the blond asked.

“I’m not sure I like this whole thing.”

“Why?”

“I don’t understand why you’re still with me if I’m obviously not enough for you...” he said honestly.

“What are you even talking about? I thought you had fun!”

“I did,” he mended, and his heart was beating so fast, his hands were going clammy and his fingers were a bit shaky around the coffee mug. “It’s just that, I thought it was fun, but then you kept going and I was already knackered and I just wanted to go to bed and sleep-”

“You should have said that,” Draco looked at him. They slept so little, but he looked glorious. All bed hair and loose limbs. “I thought you just didn’t want more, that you were okay with us having some more fun!”

“I just-” his voice broke.

What was he even doing? Draco was happy, here with him having breakfast, well fucked and handsome sipping his coffee with his attentive eyes on Harry.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He wasn’t even certain about what he was feeling. He just felt inadequate, insecure, jealous. As if his sexual life was a small boring thing and Draco was over it, needing more, needing something else, something exciting that Harry alone couldn’t provide.

It honestly just broke his heart.

He wanted to go back in time and live the way they used to over the last years, before this whole shit started. Without the need of adding kinks Harry wasn’t into or bringing men to their bed. Without feeling so inadequate and not sexual enough and so insecure.

The overwhelming feeling of regret and guilt took over and he felt his eyes sting and his face warm up. It was his fault because he had no idea of how to put boundaries on their relationship. His fault for choosing poorly. It was his fault for trying to give Draco something he wasn’t able to.

“It’s too much.” He rasped. Voice almost catching in the back of his throat.

And suddenly, he felt hot tears falling over his cheeks and pressed his hands against his face.

Draco stirred in his chair, resting his cup of coffee on top of the table.

“Harry...” the way he said his name sounded as if Harry was a small kid, there was pity and concern and Harry just hated it. “You know it changes nothing, right? It’s just a spot of fun, that’s all.” He went on.

“It’s hard for me to see you with other people, even when I’m there, I just feel like I don’t fit in.”

“But you do, and Eoin was _so_ into you, didn’t you realise?”

 _Oh, Eoin_. And it was pronounced like Owen. Trust Draco to be so engaged he would know the guy’s name.

“I did. But then, it felt pretty off. Like you guys were in a different tune that I couldn’t reach.”

Draco sighed.

“I think you’re thinking too much, Harry.”

Maybe he was. He dried his tears and took the cup to his lips when Draco said:

“You’re overreacting, honestly, it was nothing.”

**.**

But Harry was having a hard time breathing and recomposing himself in Dean’s bathroom.

His head was providing, over and over again, images of the way Draco’s fingers paused in the tender skin under his earlobe, their wedding ring shining golden, and the Austrian guy licking his lips.

It was way more than what he bargained for.

It was not supposed to be like this, like every other week. It was supposed to be once in a while, but apparently Draco didn’t notice any of his signs, the way he kept excusing himself or asking if they could just tune it down a bit.

He just needed a bit of space, a bit of time to understand why the fuck he was dealing with all this like a little shit. Like a fucking teen with a broken heart.

He tried to list in his head: Draco loves me, Draco comes back home to me, Draco is my family, we have plans together, we have friends and support.

But his mind also supplied him with the extra charge of negativity: Draco has more sexual desire than you, Draco is self-confident and could have any guy he wanted, Draco is better looking and much more experienced, anyone would love being with Draco.

And it spiraled into his known self-loathing: Draco would leave him for someone more sexual, Draco wouldn’t even miss him. Harry would be lonely, all his dreams of family and coziness would be shattered. It would take years for Harry to put his pieces back together and get over Draco. By then he would be much older, and it would be a pain in the fucking arse to find someone else that would love him just the way he was and not because he was Harry fucking Potter.

He would be fucking lonely.

“Overreacting my arse,” he spat at the mirror.

**.**

Draco had his own ways of making Harry be more malleable. And Harry was becoming very aware of it.

To start with “ _you’re such a prude_ ”, or “ _stop overreacting, it was nothing_ ”, to “ _I thought we should try this and that_ ” even after Harry told him specifically a few weeks earlier that he really didn’t feel comfortable with “ _this and that_ ”; it was all tumbling down. Then Draco would go on whining about how he really, really wanted to try it out. Or how Harry should give it a go, or how they should go pick up someone together because it was so fun to share other men with Harry.

And Draco knew Harry was not up for any of it, but he kept trying, kept pushing.

And Harry was so bad at establishing limits. It was pretty bad, because he knew Draco would keep nagging him, and he would end up giving in.

Out of fear of rejection. Because last time Harry told him no, last time he said he was not comfortable with picking up another dude in a club, Draco said his freedom was very important to him and he would like Harry to respect that.

Harry feels like the moment he decides to say no it will be the end of them and Harry is honestly scared shitless of losing Draco, and their home, and their family, and he really really really doesn't want to be alone...

**.**

Harry has no time to compose himself further because someone knocks on the door and opens it abruptly. Pansy Parkinson stares at him for a quick second and sighs, walking into the bathroom and closing the door after herself.

“What-”

But she shushes him, waving a hand dismissively, before lighting a cigarette with a quick snap of her fingers. The smell of smoke is not helping.

“Oh, Potter,” she sounds serious, watching his face with careful eyes. She is probably evaluating the red rims, probably catching how his hands shake though he’s trying to get a hold on it. “I’m guessing this is about the Austrian hottie talking to your husband.”

A wet laugh falls from his lips, startled. It sounds like a broken sob.

She sighs loudly, smoke escaping from her pursed lips

“Look, when Draco told me you guys were opening your marriage, I didn’t get it. You don’t seem the sort. I sensed trouble...” She regards him for a second. “I had a hard time too, Potter. Not because I didn’t enjoy my bit of exploration and adventure, but because I’m really not very good at sharing. I’m jealous, I’m petty, and I was raised to be a decent housewife, which is the opposite of how it felt in the beginning.”

She leans against the door.

“Is he pressuring you into it?”

He takes a long breath and shuts his eyes for a moment.

“No, not exactly,” he says, feeling out of sorts. “He obviously enjoys it more than I do. And he’s so self-confident all the bloody time...”

Pansy snorts and he snaps his eyes open and looks at her.

“The last thing Draco is is self-confident, you know that by now.”

“Not in the sex department,” he muses.

His head aches and his chest is constricted.

“Listen, Potter, he is a very curious man, he loves new things, he’s always interested in novelty. But one thing for sure, that you should be more aware of is that...” she gives him a sad smile, “you are the only constant in his life. Since we were at school, you are the only person, the only thing that he keeps obsessing about.”

Harry feels his body get warm and he shakes his head.

“But I’m not enough.”

“Who is enough?” she gestures perplexed. “No one is completely satisfied with their lives, everyone is holding on to vices and activities that will make them stop feeling unsatisfied. Some fuck, others work, or use drugs, make money, exercise, or pop kids out for god’s sake.” She takes a long drag on her cigarette. “But he loves you. He always has.”

Something in his chest inflates and deflates. Energy and frustration leaving his body.

Sometimes he forgets.

“He chose you. Maybe he’s going through this moment of life in which he just wants to live a little. But he wants to live this with you.” She points, and she’s right. Draco never seemed eager to fuck around without Harry’s presence.

“Maybe...”

“Now,” she extinguishes her cigarette and it disappears in thin air in a pop of smoke, “you can choose when you are into it and when you are not. And if tonight is not the right moment for you, that’s a no. And if he presses, then there’s a talk you will need to have.” She pauses, considering. “You can go out there and snatch him with your gorgeous green eyes and strong arms and all your weird hero charm, and spend a nice night with your husband and friends. You can decide to engage in talking to the Austrian hottie and see how it goes. You can tell Draco you guys better go back home because you’re not feeling well. But you need to communicate, Potter. Otherwise it doesn’t work.”

Harry is stunned into silence.

He’s known Pansy Parkinson for quite some time now, but he never in his life thought she would be able to give good advice.

“And, Potter,” she gets closer, and works her fingers over his hair trying to put it back in place. She is a bit stiff, but there’s care, and he appreciates it before she steps back. “You are gorgeous, and you’re bloody nice, though it pains me to admit it. He’s lucky to have you.” She smiles kindly at him. “If all goes bad, fear not, oh chosen one,” there’s a bit of sarcasm and he smiles at her, shaking his head. “You might not believe it, but you are a very lovable man.”

With that, she clears her throat, presses a hand over her dress to compose herself and looks at him coldly.

“Intervention over, now if you don’t mind, I’ll go back out there and try to charm Longbottom into a threesome.”

He laughs and she smirks devilishly.

It suits her, Harry thinks.

“Good luck with that,” he laughs as she opens the door. “Pansy,” the woman looks back from the unlit hall. “Thank you.”

She smiles. This time not sadly, not meanly. It’s just a very honest smile.

“You are very welcome.”

She grins, pats her hair and straightens her shoulders, taking her leave.

**.**

He goes back to the party. He will let Draco know that he cannot deal with bringing someone home tonight. He hopes they will still be able to enjoy the rest of the celebration with their friends.

His hands are clammy, his heart is beating hard. He is afraid of Draco saying the “ _my freedom must be respected_ ” catch phrase again. But Draco and the Austrian guy are nowhere to be seen.

Harry’s breath hitches. Draco didn’t even notice his absence, he didn’t even go check if Harry was okay, and he’s pretty sure he spent more than 15 minutes to calm down.

“Have you seen, Draco?” he asks Ginny.

“I think they went outside for a cigarette,” she says, distracted.

“They?”

“Yeah, with this guy, what's his name? Dean’s friend from Austria.”

Harry stops hearing. It’s weird how the body can function in situations of tension. He hears nothing but his heart pounding madly inside his rib cage. His fingers are tingling and his breath stutters as he moves blindly.

Taking the hall to the outside stairs; moving in slow motion though he’s pretty sure he is walking quite fast.

His blood is buzzing in his ears and his magic is buzzing all over his body, like a second skin, uncontrolled and mad.

Draco’s never done something like this before, he tries to remind himself. They are probably just smoking a cigarette. Draco never goes hunting without him. It’s always both of them, even though Draco is the one to lure the men in.

He takes the stairs. Heart crazy inside his chest, he feels like he’s drowning in the pool of acid and bile in the pit of his stomach .

He wouldn’t do this to him, would he?

But the Austrian guy was very hot and pretty into Draco. Harry is sure.

He moves faster and slower at the same time, as if trying to avoid it and catch it at the same time. He is so confused. He’s so scared. He’s fucking angry.

The outside lights start blinking and Harry knows it’s his magic going wild. He takes a long breath and steps out of the stairs to the open rooftop.

And then he sees.

And all comes crashing down.

**.**

His blood rushes inside his veins.

They are close to the balcony laughing at each other like idiots. Harry sees red. The laughter is high and there is a loud ringing noise in his ears. Draco is doubled over his stomach with a hand on the guy’s biceps.

The lights start blinking.

Both men turn to him, still laughing and then Draco smiles.

“There you are!” he says, straightening his posture. “We looked for you, where were you, Harry?”

He can’t reply. He hates seeing Draco being all loose and friendly and handsy.

A slimy disgusting feeling is pooling inside of him and he’s so angry his fists are shaking.

“What are you doing, Draco?” he’s harsh, and it gets Draco’s attention.

Looking around, as if gathering his surroundings, Draco seems to realise what is going on and he starts shaking his head, trying to control his laughter.

“I really don’t like this, Draco,” he rasps.

“No. No, this is- we’re just-”

The lightbulb cracks and lights go out.

“Fuck, Harry!” and now Draco sounds mad. “We’re smoking jellyweed, is what we’re doing.”

The Austrian man is staring at Harry and lighting a lumos with the tip of his wand. He seems confused and out of sorts.

Harry catches his breath. The words spinning in his head.

“Jellyweed?”

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” Draco spats. Looking for his own wand and turning to fix the lightbulb.

What's _wrong_ with him?

He feels his body go cold, heartbeats slowing down, his own breath comes out shaky and his hands are sweaty and disgusting. Harry stares at them in silence, embarrassed and cold. Oh gods, so cold. And suddenly he understands most of it was only in his head.

Because, looking closely, they’re just sharing a smoke and laughing. But Harry... Well, Harry got this all wrong.

“I’m sorry, Gerard,” Draco is saying and giving back the jellyweed cigarette. “Harry has been working a lot lately,” he keeps apologising.

This is so embarrassing.

“I am sorry,” he mutters.

Draco is saying goodbye in a hurry and already walking towards Harry. He looks pale, his eyes a bit red, and is scowling at Harry. He takes Harry’s forearm in a firm grip and starts pulling him from the rooftop, onto the stairs.

“Draco-”

“No,” he shushes him. “Not here, we’re going home.”

Harry is stunned.

This is bad.

He fucked it up massively.

“I’m sorry, I thought-”

“Wrong. You thought wrong!” His voice is cold and he doesn’t even say goodbye to anyone, grabbing their coats and leaving the house without seeing anyone on their way out and apparating them back to their townhouse.

**.**

“What the actual _fuck_ , Harry?”

Harry slumps into the sofa, Draco is pacing, eyes a bit wild, face contorted.

“You don’t trust me or something?” he rasps, eyes cold as ice.

“I said I’m sorry. I saw you at the table all flirty and then-”

“Flirty?” he gestures.

“Yes, Draco, _flirty_!”

And now Harry is also mad. Because he is neither stupid nor blind.

“Harry the guy is straight!”

“What?”

They stare at each other, both fuming.

“Wife, kids and all!” Draco presses. “Alright, I admit I was interested, and at some point I may have been flirty but he started telling me about his wife's work, who also works at an Art Gallery, in Vienna. And when I look around you are not there anymore. I was looking for you when Gerard asked if I wanted to smoke. I thought it would be fun you know, like old times, but you were nowhere, so I went out to smoke and then... What even was that?” his hands are gesticulating in big wavy movements. “Wild magic, Harry? Exploding lightbulbs? What the _hell_?”

Harry doesn’t know what to say.

He feels stupid.

He feels small, and childish and ridiculous.

“You thought I was hitting on him behind your back?” disbelief is written over Draco’s face. “Have I ever done that?”

“No. You only press the issue until I say yes, normally.”

“I press the issue?” he growls. “I cannot fucking believe you, Potter!” His voice echoes, irritated in their living room.

Harry feels cold in his belly as if the moment has approached. The moment in which Draco will be fed up enough to leave him.

But Draco throws his arms up in the air, defeated and plummets into an armchair. Fingers pinching over the bridge of his nose.

“What am I missing here, Harry? You feel pressured into doing it? Tell me, because I am really lost here.”

There’s a moment of silence. And Harry feels his limbs tightening, just like before a fight or a duel, anticipation working on his muscles, his stomach going terribly cold.

Pansy said they need to communicate. He should just say everything.

“I don’t want to have sex everytime you do,” he starts, closing his eyes and taking a long breath. This is not news to Draco, he’s sure. “Some things you want to explore make me uneasy and disgusted at myself.” This is also not news.

He opens his eyes and sees his husband avidly listening to him with a serious expression.

“Sometimes I give in to sex because I feel like you’re going to get bored of me and leave me if I keep saying no.”

Draco’s jaw works. He swallows and stares at his hands, looking terribly pained.

“And everytime I force myself,” Harry says, his voice sounds broken to his own ears. “Everytime I hate myself a bit more, and I hate you for not seeing it. I hate you for pressing the issue and begging and making me feel that I’m not enough, or that I am not open minded enough or good enough or sexy enough or interesting enough!” Sadness and anger twist inside of him.

All the anger he’s been bottling up comes to the surface and he’s sure Draco can see it in his eyes.

“Even when I’m feeling great with you in the middle of sex you come up with something that we already discussed I’m not into,” his voice rings strong in the room, Draco’s expression is a mix of shame and pain. “And then all I feel is disgust towards you, towards sex. I feel like I’m an object.” He keeps going. “If we bring someone home, I try to enjoy myself. And hear this, Draco, I am no prude, I am no saint, and I enjoy sex very much and it’s good, but then all your attention is focused on only this new body, this new person, as if I don’t even exist!”

His face is wet and he realises he is crying and his hands are shaking and his throat hurts.

“And you always want more, need more, and you don't even consider that maybe I am already tired or spent. It’s always you and your petty little selfish self. I die a little every time, and this sounds ridiculous even to me. I feel like I am a kid, you even said I was overreacting or whatever, but do you hear me when I say I can’t do this anymore? Because I can’t, Draco. I can’t...”

And now he is downright sobbing and crying. He can’t say anything anymore. His body aches, and his chest is on fire. And he’s starting to panic, because now that he came clean, now, well, now Draco will leave him.

“Harry, I...” Draco’s face is a blur behind the tears. “I didn’t realise... I... I think...”

He’s not even sure he wants to hear it. If it’s even needed.

 _That’s it_ , he thinks.

But then...

Well, then Draco lets out a broken sob of his own, hands twisted on his lap, looking at Harry with so much pain in his eyes and says:

“I am so sorry I hurt you so much.”

**.**

After a few silent minutes, Draco takes him in his arms and holds him for a while. Clutching to each other, scared and devastated. Draco kisses the top of his head and hugs Harry while both of them cry, until their sobs quieten and their breathing stabilizes again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Draco whispers, sounding scared. “I’m so sorry.”

They move slowly in the low lit house, as if trying to not further disturb each other. Carefully and quietly, they make tea and drink it in silence, sitting on the floor of the dark kitchen.

What follows is a blur of soft whispers, succeeded by a long lazy shower together, washing each other's hairs' and bodies with such care and tenderness.

It feels like handling a wild animal, being careful not to distress each other. The energy between them is still loaded, it feels tense, taut and tiring. Like the astounding silence after a loud trembling thunder.

They move around each other falling in an old known synchrony. They get dry and go back to their room.

They don’t talk much, as if emotionally exhausted into speechlessness.

Harry watches Draco change into a pair of pajamas. He hears him, feels his presence. He hears with his whole body what is real: Draco is right here with him. At home.

He gets into bed and kisses Draco softly. Something turns inside his chest, something observing from a different perspective as Draco hugs him under the blankets with so much familiarity. It pains him how Draco drops a kiss exactly over Harry’s scar, over his heart.

He falls asleep with Draco’s legs tangled with his, feeling his soft breaths against his neck, his eyes damp, but feeling weirdly calm, as if suspended in the air.

**.**

In the first years of their relationship, Harry got used to waking up in the middle of the night to an empty bed.

He would always find Draco sitting on the countertop of the kitchen in their townhouse, the one they chose together and bought together. Draco would be holding a cup of tea, or waiting for the kettle to boil, a book flipping pages, floating in front of him. His grey eyes transfixed on something that spiked his curiosity and made him sleepless.

Harry would always take a moment, before disrupting the quiet surrounding Draco, just to watch him. He was deeply in love and he felt at home. Even when they fought and said hurtful things, seeing Draco perched on the countertop was like staring at a favourite painting.

He couldn’t get over the warm feeling that blossomed inside his chest everytime.

**.**

This night though, when he wakes up to an empty bed, he startles, the fight coming back to his mind in a rush of emotions and uneasiness. He fears Draco has left.

He steps quietly through the halls of their house to find Draco perched on the countertop of the kitchen, a hot cuppa in his hands. There’s no book this time and Draco’s eyes are staring at the wooden floor at a loss.

He looks sad, worried; his shoulders slump and his face is slack, looking so terribly lost. Harry takes a moment to commit the image to memory before entering the kitchen. He is not even sure he wants to be able to remember this moment, it’s more a habit than a conscious decision.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

Draco blinks surprised at him and smiles softly; he looks so sad.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs.

Harry makes himself a cup of tea and sits by Draco’s side over the countertop, legs hanging in the air.

“I want things to work out,” Draco says quietly.

“Me too.”

He can feel Draco is also scared. It goes both ways. They are standing together in this boat with a deep hole in it. It might sink or it might not.

Outside, the colours in the sky are changing as dawn breaks and the first start of sunrise approaches. Shadows and lights play over the wooden floor as they stare at it quietly.

“Can we fix it?” Draco asks in a broken voice.

And it breaks his heart to hear Draco sounding so shattered, so uncertain, so scared. There’s so much pain inside Harry’s chest that his breath comes out shaky.

“I hope so...” Harry replies intertwining their fingers.

He has no idea if they can mend things. If they will manage to put their pieces back together. He wants to believe they can, but he doesn’t know.


End file.
